Fernand, studying his lieutenant in this crisis, approved of him thoroughly.

He himself was in a quandary.

Westerners fight, and a fight would be most embarrassing.

"Do you think--" began McKeever.
"I think you'll keep that hand and that same pack of cards on the table till I've had it looked over," said Ronicky Doone.

"I've dropped a cold thousand to you, and you're winning it with stacked decks, McKeever." There was a stifled oath from McKeever, as he jerked his hand back.
Frederic Fernand was beginning to draw one breath of joy at the thought that McKeever would escape without having that pack, of all packs, examined, when the long dagger flashed in the hand of Ronicky Doone.
He struck as a cat strikes when it hooks the fish out of the stream--he struck as the snapper on the end of a whiplash doubles back.